


You Like Cats? (or Sam Wilson Has No Game)

by SoftObsidian74



Series: For the Culture [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Flirting, Halloween, Kissing, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Character of Color, Sam is too grown for Halloween, T’Challa has swag, and a tight pleather catsuit, egregious fourth wall violations, until he isn’t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 13:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: Sam isn’t a fan of Halloween. Meeting T’Challa changes his mind, and wrecks his game (if he ever had any).





	You Like Cats? (or Sam Wilson Has No Game)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to UnicornMaster and Nonush for the beta work.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Halloween was overrated. It was cool when Sam was a kid and rocking his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume, but now, watching his rent-paying, mortgage-having, wake-up-at-6am and go-to-bed-by-10pm friends getting all worked up about dressing up like cartoon and comic book characters? Nah, that shit was pathetic.

First of all, despite its historical origins and cultural significance in many countries, in Sam’s opinion, present day Halloween celebrated in America was strictly for the kids. If a grown-ass man wanted candy that bad then he could take his grown ass to a grocery store and buy as much candy as he wanted. There was no reason for someone over the age of sixteen to be out in the street begging for candy bars and candy corn. Of course, that was not a popular opinion and Sam was all about being diplomatic and letting people live their truth. His personal motto was live and let live as long as you weren’t trying to hurt people or kill someone’s vibe; Sam was not the one to rain on your parade. So he kept that shit to himself.

Or at least he tried to, but Steve and Bucky had a way of getting on his last nerve and forcing the ugly truth on him. For instance, they had been harassing Sam about going to Clint and Natasha’s blow out Halloween costume party for weeks. 

“Come on, Sam, everyone we hang out with is going to be there. Everyone!” Bucky said for the millionth time.

“I told you, I’ll go, but I ain’t dressing up,” Sam said stubbornly.

“You gotta dress up,” Steve frowned. “Nat’s rules. And you know she will enforce them. No costume, no entry.”

Sam sighed. “I don’t have a costume.”

“You keep saying that,” Bucky said with frustration. “But you’ve had over a month now to get one, and the party is tomorrow. ”

Sam shrugged. 

“Does that mean you’re definitely not going?” Steve asked with a whine in his voice. An honest to god whine! It’s freaking Halloween and this grown man was acting like Sam was turning down a wedding invitation.

Shaking his head, Sam turned his back on Steve’s puppy-dog eyes. Sam loved Steve, he really did, but the dude was manipulative as hell. 

“Fine, be like that,” Bucky huffed. He turned his back to Sam and cranked up the volume onthe television. He was definitely sulking.

“Why does it matter if I go or not?” Sam asked.

“Because we don’t get to see everyone like we used to,” Steve said. “Everyone’s schedule is jam-packed and there’s never any time to just hang out any more. This was supposed to be… you know what, nevermind. If you don’t wanna go, you don’t have to.” 

Sam glared at the back of Bucky’s head and then looked at Steve who was doing the absolute most with a pout so dramatic it deserved an Oscar.

“Fine!” Sam threw his hands up. “I’ll go.”

“Yes!” Steve said, jumping up and clapping. 

Bucky whipped his head to look back at Sam. “Seriously?”

Sam nodded in resignation. “I get the feeling if I don’t go, I’m gonna get shit from everyone else, too.”

Bucky’s slow and easy smirk was back. “Good, then we need to go costume shopping ASAP.” 

Defeated, Sam pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t need to do shit. I can pick my own costume out, thank you very much. Besides, I don’t trust y’all.”

Steve grabbed his car keys and smiled. It looked a little evil. “Sam, we’re in this together. Let’s go!”

 

*

 

Sam had a perfectly logical reason for choosing The FalconTM costume (no matter what Bucky said, it was absolutely not a birdman costume). There would be questions of course, and when asked, Sam had planned to tell party guests that he chose to come as The FalconTM because it was the most respectable costume in the grown people section. In fact, in Sam’s opinion, the plastic jet packs glued to his metal wings made him look like some type of futuristic soldier. 

He planned to absolutely deny his choice of costume had anything to do with the impressed stare of the cute floor sales girl or the approving head nods from the two assholes who occupy too much of his space and time. Nope. He was The FalconTM, a badass soldier from the future who gets the job done. That was pretty close to real life, in Sam’s estimation.

This was what was running through Sam’s head as they climbed the steps of Clint and Natasha’s brownstone.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked through his face mask. It came out sounding more like someone talking with a mouth full of food than actual words, but somehow Sam understood him perfectly.

“I’m fine,” Sam said way more defensively than he intended. It was at that moment he realized how much tension he was holding. 

Maybe it was because it was October, and there was no Comic-Con in town but here they were, three grown-ass men, standing on a stoop in Park Slope, where anyone could see them. Bucky had a shiny “metal” arm that looked more like aluminum foil wrap, and Steve was rentboy indecent in his “Captain America” costume that was so tight it made Sam want to cover his eyes. He certainly wasn’t looking at Steve’s very bootylicious ass because they were friends, dammit.

“Let’s just get inside,” he muttered impatiently. 

Steve had the nerve to throw a shit-eating grin over his shoulder before ringing the doorbell, those white-devil blue eyes dancing through that stupid cowl. 

Sam glared back until the door opened. 

Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ spilled out into the street as Clint’s goofy face breamed down at them. He shouted _hello_ and then waved them inside. When Sam passed him, Clint’s eyes went wide and suddenly he was being pulled closer for an inspection. 

“Nice costume, man!” Clint yelled. “I’m a bird, too! Code-name’s Hawkeye. Whoa, are those wings real metal?”

Sam pursed his lips and put as much attitude as he could into signing _“Dude, they’re not wings, they’re jet-powered gliders.”_

Clint snickered and jerked his thumb to the cheap looking plastic quiver and clunky arrowheads on his back. “Yeah, okay, and these are real arrows!”

“Don’t mind him,” Steve signed to Clint. “He’s being a grump.”

“What’s wrong?” Clint shouted. 

_“He’s a hater,”_ Bucky signed before Sam could get in a word.

“I am not a hater!” Sam signed with exasperation. “I’m just not a big fan of Halloween.”

“Halloween Grinch,” Steve signed and then stuck his tongue out like a five year old. Why Sam hangs around these two is a mystery.

“Aww, Sam, don’t be a hater. Halloween is fun!” Clint shouted, pulling Sam into a tight hug. “I promise by the end of the night, you’re gonna love it.” 

Sam glared at Steve and Bucky over Clint’s shoulder, but the bastards were already slinking away into the growing crowd. 

There was a steady flow of foot traffic moving in and out of the room. Sam tried not to gawk at the Teletubby dancing with Superman or the topless twins with their breasts painted as various M&Ms. Someone dressed as a priest wearing NO PANTS and a chastity belt was approaching, so Sam jumped out of the way and deeper into the living room. The entire room looked like a Halloween store on steroids. Black and orange streamers ran along the walls, glow in the dark spiders and skulls covered the ceiling, there were tombstone and evil pumpkin cutouts, and an honest to god fog machine that made the floor practically disappear. 

It was loud but the blare of the music was no match for the raucous sound of indecipherable chatter and laughter. Then Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ came on again and there was screaming. The beat was strong, emphasized by the syncopated stomping of Tony, Rhodey, Peter, Gamora, and Thor trying (and failing) to recreate the Thriller dance. Natasha stood in the corner, filming it with her phone.

“Man, that’s just sad,” Sam said as Thor started gyrating his hips out of time. 

“Oh, can you do better?” Clint shouted as he backed into it. There was a dare in his eyes and it was so tempting, but Sam refused to be baited.

Sam huffed as he signed. _“Man, I can do that dance in my sleep.”_

“I don’t believe you,” Clint taunted.

“Me either,” Bucky garbled as he found a spot among the dancers and fell right in step like someone who regularly practices the Thriller dance. God that asshole was weird.

Sam shook his head as he watched these fools. There was no way Natasha was going to get digital blackmail on him dancing like a….

A full on shiver ran through Sam’s body as someone brushed past him to make their way towards the group of dancers. 

The music faded away. At least it faded away in Sam’s mind as un unbelievable specimen of a man joined the Thriller dance. If Sam’s mouth was a little bit open, he couldn’t be faulted. Gorgeous, with a rich dark brown complexion, the man was GQ level handsome. His intense dark eyes and regal posture reminded Sam of the African kings his mother used to read to him about before bedtime. Sam mentally photographed all six feet and two inches of the man, which was easy to do. The guy’s body was a chiseled work of art and on full display; his skin-tight pleather catsuit left very little to the imagination. 

“Damn,” Sam murmured.

He openly gawked as the man leaned to the side, did a sexy little shimmy with his hips, and reached up to flawlessly snap his fingers to the beat. Really, it wouldn’t have mattered if the guy was on beat or knew all the steps (which he did, this brotha was smooth as hell). because this man was the most perfect human being Sam had ever laid eyes on.

Colgate-model pearly white teeth flashed in the strobe light as the man smiled at Bucky, who nodded in approval. The mystery man and Bucky did the next phase of the dance perfectly in sync while the others followed. Every single person in the room, whether dancing or not, was watching them. 

When the guy and Bucky shared another smile, a wave of jealousy rose up in Sam so strong he had to control the scowl taking over his face. And then the guy looked back and his eyes locked with Sam’s. 

Time completely stopped as Sam’s future with this man flashed before his eyes. They were laughing, skipping through a field of daisies, and there was even a damn rainbow in the background. Thriller was still playing but all Sam could hear was Brandy’s “I Wanna Be Down” playing in a loop.

Suddenly not dancing was no longer an option. If this man, this _King_ , enjoyed dancing, well then Sam was going to woo him with dance. 

Moving towards the dance area, Sam kept his eyes fixed on the object of his desire. The dance was halfway over and approaching Sam’s favorite part. He smiled confidently as he slid right next to the guy and in step. There was a great whoop from the kitchen that sounded suspiciously like Steve, and Sam preened as people began to cheer him on. The mystery man quirked his pretty lips in approval and that’s when Sam decided there was no way he was walking away from this party without this man’s number. 

By the end of the song, the entire room was clapping and giving Sam, Sam’s future boyfriend, and Bucky major props. ‘Thriller’ gave way to ‘Time Warp,’ and the entire room exploded. People pushed and screamed their way into the living room to act out the dance and sing-shout into each other’s faces. Sam shook his head. _Rocky Horror_ had never been his thing.

When he searched past the madness for somewhere to retreat, he found the beautiful man watching him. Sam raised an eyebrow and the guy motioned with his head for Sam to follow him back. 

It wasn’t easy working through the tangle of overly excited and flailing limbs, but with his eyes on the prize, Sam made his way back in record time.

The guy yelled something, but it was impossible to hear over the noise. Sam scrunched up his face in question and leaned in. 

“What?!”

The man shook his head and grabbed Sam’s hand, and that was…really nice. The guy’s hand was large, which was promising, and his palm was soft with calluses along the top like he was practiced in gripping things. Filthy thoughts popped in Sam’s head as he allowed himself to be pulled back into the hallway and then into a spare bedroom. 

It was dark in there, but the street light spilled through the window on to the large, queen-size bed in the middle of the room. It also gave the mystery man a nice backlight, emphasizing his impressive torso. Sam licked his lips, his body so ready to be pushed against the wall, but the man turned suddenly. 

Sam swallowed. He didn’t even know this guy’s name yet, and they were already moving towards the bed. This was some wild and reckless shit, but Sam wasn’t about to stop it from happening. So when the guy went to the window and pushed it up to stick his head out, Sam was confused.

A breeze drifted into the room and it felt good against the sweaty sheen on Sam’s face. 

“It is very brisk. Do you mind?” the man asked, looking back at Sam.

Sam shook his head.

The man smiled and then climbed out the window onto the fire escape. Sam walked over to the window and startled when a strong arm reached back in to help him through it. 

Sam took the hand being offered to him and carefully wiggle-maneuvered his way out of the window without damaging his wings. 

It really was brisk. The cold air was crisp and soothing in a way that surprised Sam. He looked down at the empty side street. There was barely any traffic, and the sound of the occasional car passing by was a lot like silence compared to the muted noise in the next room.

“This is the best room of the house.”

Sam laughed. “You know what? You may be onto something. But how’d you know? Have you been here before?”

“Yes. Natasha is a good friend.”

“Good friend, eh? I’ve known Natasha and Clint since college,” Sam said suspiciously. “Never seen you here before. I don’t even know who you are.”

Looking out to the street with a curious smile, the guy asked, “Would you like to?”

Sam’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he mentally recited his standard prayer. _Be cool. Be cool. Be cool._

The man’s little smile was fading fast. Sam was fucking this up. He couldn’t fuck this up. 

“You really think I came out here for the view?” he blurted out.

The man’s eyes widened in surprise and that cute little smirk returned. “I don’t know. Did you?” he asked, leaning back. His black pleather catsuit stretched indecently over his...

Lawd have mercy! Sam was no slouch in the men’s package department, but this brotha was packing serious heat!

“Maybe...” Sam murmured, trying and failing to keep his eyes on the man’s face. “So uh…is that a catsuit? You like cats?”

_You like cats?_ Sam mentally face-palmed himself. Worst. Game. Ever.

“What is your name?” the man asked, saving Sam from his blubbering embarrassment.

“Sam!” That was easy. “Sam Wilson, pleased to meet you,” Sam said, extending his hand.

The beautiful stranger grasped Sam’s hand with a firm handshake and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Sam Wilson. My name is T’Challa.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Just T’Challa? I mean, it’s cool if you don’t have a last name. I like the one name thing. It conveys confidence. Like Prince. He didn’t need a last name. He was just like ‘I’m Prince and I’m gonna stand here with no last name and y’all are gonna eat this shit up ‘cause I’m a badass motherfucker!’”

T’Challa looked like he was trying to hold in a smile, and Sam couldn’t tell if it was because he was talking too much or if he’d actually said something funny. He prayed for the latter. For some reason this guy was making him lose all his cool points.

“No, I do not have a last name,” T’Challa said. “In my country we denote lineage more clearly. So, I am T’Challa, son of T’Chaka of The Golden Tribe.”

His accent really was thick but Sam couldn’t place it. 

“The Golden Tribe? Where are you from?”

“A small country in Eastern Africa called Wakanda.”

“I’ve heard of Wakanda! You guys specialize in textiles right?”

T’Challa coughed but it looked more like a cover for a smile. “That’s what we are most known for, yes. And where are you from?”

“Harlem, baby!” Sam exclaimed, stretching out his arms in the way only a true Harlemite would while announcing his home.

“I like Harlem, but I have not seen much of it. Perhaps you could show me around sometime?”

“I can definitely do that,” Sam said, licking his lips. 

T’Challa huffed out a chuckle and shook his head. “So, Sam, tell me about your costume, what are you supposed to be?”

Sam opened his mouth and then closed it. There was no way to play this off and sound cool. He was a grown-ass man with metal wings on his back. Even Denzel Washington couldn’t play off this shit and still be smooth.

He sighed, resigned to being mocked. “I’m The Falcon? He’s a comic book character. Served in the Army as a pararescue. He’s supposed to have enhanced abilities to talk to birds and he can fly,” Sam said, avoiding T’Challa’s eyes. “Eventually he becomes Captain America.”

“Why didn’t you just come as Captain America?” T’Challa asked.

Sam snorted and gestured to his metal wings. “Did you hear what I said? I can _fly_ , man. I got wing jets. That’s way cooler than holding a giant frisbee.”

T’Challa laughed with his whole body. His sculpted chest shook, his eyes danced, and those pearly whites of his gleamed in the street light. The sight and sound of it lit a fuse in Sam’s chest. That was the kind of laugh that made him want to try to be his best to make this man happy so he could hear and see it again. 

“So what’s _your_ costume?“ Sam asked, giving a suggestive once over, even though he’d lost count how many times he’d already checked T’Challa out.

T’Challa sighed dramatically. “Oh, Sam...you disappoint me. The next Captain America should recognize his greatest opponent.”

Sam pointed at T’Challa’s face. “I knew that was a catsuit! I didn’t recognize the costume without the mask.” 

T’Challa shrugged. “I could not breathe, so I took it off.”

The words _‘can you take off the rest?’_ sat on Sam’s tongue, but he hesitated too long and by the time he got the nerve to spit it out, the moment had past. 

“You know, you don’t really need a mask. You look like a king anyway.”

T’Challa scoffed.

“Hey, it’s true,” Sam said. “The way you walk in a room is like…man, you got swag for days.”

T’Challa shook his head. “Swag, eh? I don’t know about that.”

Even under the unnatural yellow glow of the street lamp, the red undertone of T’Challa’s blush was prominent and his shy little smile was adorable. The whole reaction drew Sam in; he had been steadily inching toward T’Challa the entire time without even realizing it. Now they were standing so close Sam couldn’t ignore it; the charge from their body heat was giving him goosebumps. 

“Oh, you know, don’t act like you don’t know. The entire room was watching your moves. Why do you think I joined in?” Sam asked, daring to bump shoulders with T’Challa. It was a real casual shoulder bump. Sam was good at subtle and sexy. 

T’Challa narrowed his eyes. “Sam, are you trying to-- what do they call it? ‘Push up on me’?”

So maybe he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. “Yeah, I am.” 

When T’Challa didn’t respond, Sam winced and mentally braced himself for a brush off. 

“Good,” T’Challa said softly. “I was hoping you were.”

_Close your mouth and act like you got some goddamn sense._

Sam took a deep breath and went for broke. “Oh yeah?” he said, leaning in and hoping to God he wasn’t misreading this.

“Yes,” T’Challa said, meeting him in the middle.

Those beautiful full lips were just as soft as they looked and T’Challa was both tender and demanding. Sam moaned as T’Challa’s tongue slipped past his lips and skillfully explored his mouth. This dude had all of the moves. It was enough to make Sam swoon. Luckily, T’Challa was quick on the uptake, and held him in place, wrapping around Sam’s waist. Sam hummed in approval as T’Challa pulled him flush against that fine pleather-clad body.

By the time their kiss broke, Sam was damn near breathless. He probably looked goofy as hell with his mouth all open and his eyes full of hearts. Sam couldn’t even summon enough brain cells to be embarrassed.

“Damn, is kissing a required class in Wakanda?”

T’Challa chuckled. “I take you like the way I kiss?”

“Do I? Come here,” Sam murmured, pulling T’Challa back in.

They kissed, and kissed and broke for air, laughed and kissed some more until Sam heard his name being yelled.

“I think your friends are looking for you,” T’Challa said. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other, aware that their little bubble of bliss on the fire escape was about to burst. T’Challa looked just as reluctant as Sam felt.

“I guess we better go back in.”

T’Challa nodded, but didn’t let go of Sam’s waist. 

They managed to climb back inside without breaking contact, and by the time they joined the party again, they were holding hands like steady boyfriends. 

Sam couldn’t quite control the proud smile taking over his face. Hell, why should he? He was holding hands with the finest man at the party. 

Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me” was bouncing off the walls and the dance area was even more packed than before. And it was hard to make out faces through the jumping and flailing of limbs . 

T’Challa squared his shoulders, parting the crowd with his body like he was on security detail. A warm gooey feeling washed over Sam. He was so _fucked._

“Sam!” Steve shouted, waving him over.

When they reached him, Bucky, Clint, and Natasha were all gathered around the kitchen table like generals surveying a war-room battle map. There were sixteen red cups geometrically arranged to look like a pyramid. Drinking roulette. 

“There he is,” Bucky said, raising his eyebrows at Sam and T’Challa’s joined hands. 

Steve’s face was the picture of open surprise and confusion. “We were looking for you...thought you might have left.”

“Nah, I was around,” Sam said cryptically, glancing over to T’Challa, who averted his eyes. He was blushing again.

“You know I’ve been meaning to introduce you two,” Natasha said with a knowing smile.

Clint clapped his hands and rubbed them with a devious glint in his eyes. “This is perfect. We needed another pair. You guys want in?”

Sam frowned down at the red cups. There was enough liquor in each of them to make them all regret their life choices in the morning. He really was too old for this shit. It was Halloween night, and here Sam was, a grown-ass man over 30 years old, dressed up like a comic book character and entertaining an invite to play college beer games with other grown-ass people in costumes. 

“I’ll play if Sam does,” T’Challa said with the most adorable smile. 

Sam looked at all of his friends, smiling knowingly (and a bit too smugly). 

There were worse ways to spend Halloween. Like sitting on a couch and watching horror movies all alone because your friends were at a fun party where you could have met your future boyfriend. In comparison, dressing like a weirdo and playing old college games with good friends and the potential love of your life was definitely better.

Sam smiled and gave T’Challa’s hand an affirming squeeze. “Yeah, alright, count me in.”


End file.
